Avan jolted awake, hands instinctively patting his chest, searching for the gashes he half-expected from the wolf’s claws. His fingers found only damp, intact skin beneath the blood-crusted remnants of his shirt, the passive glow of Origin Healing (Lv. 3) having worked through the night, mending the bruises and cuts from his cliff dive and wolf fight. “Still alive,” he muttered, voice rough with sleep, collapsing back onto the sleeping bag inside the tent. His enchanted boots pressed against the canvas wall, their rune-stitched leather a quiet comfort. Oof… that was too damn close yesterday. He rubbed his face, the memory of the spear piercing the wolf’s heart flashing vivid—dumb luck, sure, but also a flicker of the dungeon-honed instincts that had kept him breathing.
Shaking his head at his ridiculous survival streak, he crawled out of the tent, the faint hum of *Origin Energy*—golden threads laced with silver and violet—buzzing in his chest, steadying his nerves. The lake shimmered under the morning sun, its surface calm, no trace of yesterday’s bloodbath. He scanned the campsite he’d set up beneath the gray boulders—tent intact, backpack slung over a rock, spear propped nearby, its tip still stained with the wolf’s black ichor. No fresh paw prints, no rustling beasts. “No midnight snacks today,” he said, voice dry, half-relieved, half-wary, as he began packing up, rolling the sleeping bag and dismantling the tent with quick, practiced moves, his Strength—15 now—making the load feel lighter than it should.
First come, first served, right? he reasoned, slinging the scavenged backpack over his shoulders, its weight stuffed with the camp’s loot—daggers, bow, spear, vest, pants, and those sleeping bags. The dead adventurers wouldn’t miss it, and survival trumped guilt. He adjusted the straps, ticking off his needs in his head: Food, water, better gear, and some damn answers about this world’s system. The spear and clothes were a start, but his stomach growled, and the lake water he’d sipped last night wouldn’t hold him long. The forest stretched ahead, beech trees swaying in a warm breeze, and beyond, a jagged mountain range loomed under the rising sun, promising a new day in this alien place.
Avan closed his eyes, tilting his face toward the sun, its warmth cutting through the morning chill, a stark contrast to Frankfurt’s February snow. “New world, new rules,” he murmured, voice low, a flicker of excitement sparking beneath his practical edge. Could do without the wolf nibbles, though. He chuckled, short and bitter, the near-death adrenaline still lingering, but alive was alive, and he’d take it. Opening his eyes, he rummaged through the backpack, pulling out the flask and a small pouch of dried berries and meat he’d scavenged from the camp. He squatted by the lake, filling the flask with water—Hopefully cleaner than my blood-soaked swim—and took a long gulp, the coolness grounding him. Popping a few berries into his mouth, he chewed, savoring the tart sweetness, and stood, picking a random direction—north, toward the mountains.
“Off I go,” he said, voice light, grinning despite the uncertainty. “Overpowered mage tossing fireballs? Anti-hero with a dark streak? Nah, just want to figure this place out and not die.” The forest swallowed him, trees towering overhead, their leaves a familiar green at first glance, but subtle differences emerged—rabbits with tiny horns darting through the underbrush, blue birds with trailing, ribbon-like tails flitting above. He munched on the dried meat as he walked, the peaceful hum of birdsong and rustling leaves a balm after yesterday’s chaos. Hours slipped by, his Dexterity—10—keeping his steps sure over roots and rocks, the enchanted boots gripping the earth like they were made for it.
The trees thinned after a couple of hours, opening into a sprawling clearing dotted with white marble ruins—crumbling walls, shattered columns, a wild garden tangled with vibrant flowers and bluish-leaved trees. Avan paused, eyes narrowing, the spear in his hand a steady weight. A faint shimmer passed through him as he stepped forward, a cold tingle racing down his spine, syncing with the *Origin Energy* in his core. “Barrier?” he muttered, voice cautious, *Identification* (Lv. 1) flaring instinctively: Ancient ward, protective, dormant energy, no active threat. He relaxed slightly, boots crunching on gravel as he approached a low wall encircling the garden. Empty, maybe safe. Worth a shot.
Golden fruits hung from the bluish trees, their glow catching his eye, tempting in the sunlight. “Well, why not?” he said, voice dry, plucking one and biting into it. Sweet juice burst across his tongue, a mix of mango and apple, fresh and juicy, dripping down his chin. “Love it,” he grinned, sitting against a tree, savoring the taste, *Origin Healing* (Lv. 3) passively easing the faint ache in his legs from the walk. No poison, no tricks—just a damn good fruit. A chime rang in his mind, sharp and bold, a glowing window popping up:
*Chime*
You ate a Golden Meaple!
For consuming a Golden Meaple, your body and soul are infused with celestial energy.
*Chime*
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Passive Skill Gained: Celestial Affinity (Lv. 1)
Celestial Affinity (Lv. 1): Your connection to celestial energy strengthens. Celestial-related skills gain increased potency, and you resist hostile celestial energy more effectively.
“What the—?” Avan blinked, swiping at the window, half-startled, half-delighted. “Just from this?” He stared at the fruit, then at the others hanging nearby, a grin spreading. “Matches my element—check.” The dungeon’s *Seed of Origin* hummed in his chest, its celestial tie-in clicking into place. Greedy for more, he ate another, the sweet juice flooding his senses, and another chime followed:
*Chime*
Celestial Affinity has reached Level 2!
Celestial Affinity (Lv. 2): Your celestial energy deepens, further enhancing celestial skills and resistance.
Laughter bubbled up, echoing through the garden, wild and relieved. “Jackpot,” he said, voice bright, snagging the remaining fruits—23 in total—and stashing them in his backpack. Forgotten ruins, no owners—mine now. The haul felt nourishing, a lifeline in this world, and he leaned back, popping another berry from the pouch, savoring the moment.
“If it names the fruit, maybe I can ID stuff properly,” he mused, voice thoughtful, holding a Golden Meaple up, focusing hard. The dungeon’s *Identification* had been instinctive, gut-level, but this system was louder, flashier. He rolled the fruit between his hands, willing it to reveal itself, until a soft chime rang:
*Chime*
Skill Enhanced: Identification now includes detailed analysis!
Identification: You can now analyze objects and creatures within range, revealing detailed information. Higher levels expand range and depth.
[Golden Meaple]
A rare fruit infused with celestial energy, once cultivated in the earliest dungeons of Eos. Grants significant celestial power when consumed. Lost to legend, its origins tie to ancient celestial forces.
“There we go,” Avan chuckled, voice dry, “monkey brain pulls through.” The sarcastic system tone felt familiar, like his own snark mirrored back. Satisfied, he stood, brushing off his pants, and explored the ruins further, spear in hand, *Origin Energy Manipulation* (Lv. 3) tingling at his fingertips, ready for trouble.
The garden gave way to smaller structures—crumbled houses, a stable, a warehouse—all white marble, weathered but grand, their elegance hinting at a lost era. The temple itself loomed ahead, its archway collapsed, columns cracked, but its altar intact, etched with runes that glowed faintly gold. Another barrier brushed him as he entered, a cool, cleansing wave syncing with his *Origin Energy*. “Protective, huh?” he muttered, *Identification* flaring: Sanctuary ward, celestial-aligned, dormant power. The interior was ornate, benches shattered but walls carved with sublime detail—fit for royalty, now dust. The runes on the altar pulsed, simple yet overwhelming, slipping from his memory the moment he looked away, *Origin Language – Runescript of the Origin* whispering fragments he couldn’t grasp.
“Beautiful once,” he said, voice low, imagining the temple in its prime—columns tall, well flowing, a sphere atop it. He stepped outside, circling the dried-up well, its marble sphere pristine, untouched by time, hovering faintly above the base. Curiosity tugged, and he reached out, brushing its smooth surface. It bobbed, then crumbled to nothing, not even dust, and a sharp headache stabbed his skull.
“What—?!” he yelped, stumbling back, clutching his head as chimes rang, bold and mechanical:
*Chime*
Congratulations! You have awakened your Class: Celestial Dungeonheart
*Chime*
Primary Resources Unlocked: Health, Stamina, Ambient Mana
Avan froze, pain fading as fast as it came, the glowing windows hovering before him. “Character interface,” he rasped, voice stunned, and it appeared:
Name: Avan
Level: 9
Class: Celestial Dungeonheart
Element: Celestial (via *Origin Energy* and *Seed of Origin*)
Subclass: None
Stats:
- Strength: 15
- Dexterity: 10
- Vitality: 15
- Intelligence: 10
- Wisdom: 5
- Spirit: 5
Free Stat Points: 10
Skills:
- Identification (Lv. 1, enhanced analysis)
- Origin Energy Manipulation (Lv. 3)
- Origin Healing (Lv. 3, passive healing effect)
- Origin Energy Shield (Lv. 1)
- Origin Energy Projectiles (Lv. 1)
- Origin Language – Runescript of the Origin (Partial, dungeon-specific)
- Pain Resistance 1
- Steady 1
- Celestial Affinity (Lv. 2)
Primary Resources:
- Health: 125 (50 base + 75 from Vitality)
- Stamina: 125 (50 base + 75 from Vitality)
- Ambient Mana: 75 (50 base + 25 from Wisdom)
Currency:
- Copper: 15
- Silver: 8
- Gold: 1
- Platinum: 0
“Dungeonheart?” he muttered, voice shaky, sinking to his knees, hands gripping his head. “Still human, at least… and numbers now—makes sense, 5 per stat point plus a base.” He scanned further, landing on his class description:
Celestial Dungeonheart:
You are a living conduit of celestial energy, tied to the *Seed of Origin*. As a Dungeonheart, you wield ambient mana within your sphere of influence, a domain centered on you. Conquer dungeons and creatures to expand your power, harnessing their essence to strengthen your core.
“A dungeon… me?” Avan whispered, voice stunned, half-laughing, half-spooked. The *Seed of Origin* pulsed in his chest, its celestial roots tying it all together—Frankfurt’s collapse, the dungeon, this world. “No fireballs yet, but… this could work.” He stood, spear in hand, the ruins silent around him, a new path unfolding in this strange, glowing world.
I don′t think I can ever get to something like Rising Stars without joining the review swapping circle of authors who are pushing each other with their new stories "instantly" to RS.